Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Finnigan shifted in his seat as he studied the large screen on the wall in LA’s SWAT command center. Next to him, Commander Mattox, Hutch, and Jiena did the same. Working remotely from home, Tex communicated the video of convict Bette Simpson's elimination, zooming in and scrutinizing every detail.
After a back-and-forth discussion, Hutch voiced their conclusion. “It’s fake.”
“Not only fake,” Tex added, “but AI-generated. Look at these points.”
They focused on the cursor as Tex moved it around the screen. The technology astounded and impressed them.
“I never thought I’d live long enough to see this,” Commander Mattox remarked.
“AI might have its positive uses, but it’s also very dangerous,” Tex pointed out. “Someone went to a great deal of trouble to make it appear as if law enforcement killed Bette Simpson.”
“Not a smart move, if you ask me.”
The familiar voice momentarily startled them. Everyone turned to see Justice, who had just walked in. His appearance struck Finnigan as worrisome. He’d lost weight, leaving his clothes to hang loosely. The gauntness of his face, along with the added lines and creases, suggested something more than Brielle’s impeding birth weighed on him.
After greeting their colleague, Jiena began, “Justice, I’d like to hear your thoughts on this.” She waved her hand at the video playing on a loop on the computer screen.
“It’s not smart to draw this kind of attention from law enforcement. Whoever these people are, they obviously don’t know how dogged we can be when solving our cases. Any ideas about who they are?”
Everyone shook their heads and murmured, “No.”
“We believe the women are disappearing and dying of drug overdoses because they’re being used as drug mules,” Jiena continued. “And you’re not going to like this, but there is evidence to suggest that Judge Cohen and Public Defender Perry Jones are part of this mysterious organization we’re investigating.”
“Whoever runs this organization must be well-connected to pull something like this off,” Justice mused.
“They are,” Commander Mattox agreed. “And they’ve flown under the radar because there’s no ‘family name’ associated with them.” He gestured with air quotes around the phrase “family name.”
“Understood.”
Jiena asked, “Tex, is there any way to trace the source of this video?”
“I’m working on it.”
While Tex settled down to work his magic on his system at home, Finnigan, Hutch, Justice, and Jiena studied the profiles of the missing and dead women, cross-referencing and cross-checking their facts to see patterns beyond the obvious.
After fruitless hours of research, they split up for the night. Finnigan used Commander Mattox’s empty office to compose another letter to Tawny. He succinctly described the current developments in the investigation and reassured Tawny of their dedication to solving the case. The second half of the letter Finnigan devoted to expressing his desire for a safe homecoming and comforting her with the knowledge that he was fighting for her every day. After he finished it, he arranged to meet Moira at her apartment to give it to her.
Later, as he drove home to Laguna Beach, his heart ached with need for the woman who held him captive.
From the corner of her eye, Tawny noticed Whitcomb and Stoltz watching her as she jogged at an easy pace around the training field. She recognized their stance. Close together. Acting casual. Plotting. Considering all the occasions she’d seen them interacting with each other, Tawny connected the dots. To an untrained observer, it appeared normal for a guard to have a professional relationship with a warden, but now alarm bells blared in Tawny’s mind.
They’re working together . I’m sure of it .
Lap after lap, she pretended to pay them no mind while surreptitiously studying them. She assumed their attention was on all of them, but it occurred to her that Stoltz’s and Whitcomb’s interest was primarily in her, judging from the way their gazes followed her. Her instincts kicked into high gear—heart pounding more from intuition than running, the truth hit her hard.
I’m next .
After a tough workout, Tawny forced herself to concentrate on Moira’s instruction. They’d moved past fire science for now, and today, Moira’s lessons focused on equipment. Though she could have answered Moira’s questions easily, Tawny remained in the background and allowed the others to demonstrate their knowledge. During the past week, Yolanda and another woman, Terrin, had climbed to the top of the class, claiming spots two and three behind Tawny. She wanted them to succeed, to see their worth, to raise their self-esteem.
Her earlier conclusion about Whitcomb and Stoltz elevated her anxiety, which manifested itself in her legs bouncing up and down and her sweaty palms. Yolanda cast a questioning glance at her, but she shot a quick, reassuring smile at her and shook her head in return. Tawny counted the minutes until class ended, and she could pass the information about a possible connection between Whitcomb and Stoltz to Moira.
After Moira called upon a few members to answer some last-minute questions, class ended. Tawny took her time to gather her materials, and as she shuffled past Moira, she murmured, “Stoltz and Whitcomb.” At the same time, Moira handed her a piece of paper folded multiple times into a tiny square. Her heart leaped with happiness. Another letter from Finnigan.
“See you tomorrow, Tawny.” Her eyes communicated her understanding of the names Tawny mentioned.
In her cell, Tawny unfolded the letter from Finnigan. Grateful that her future sister-in-law’s presence at the prison provided much-needed comfort and a link to the outside world, she began reading Finnigan’s letter. He informed her that everyone was working around the clock on the video of Bette’s “suicide-by-cop,” the conclusion drawn by the media. Just yesterday they’d determined that the video had been created by AI, but questions remained. Who? Why? Not much headway had been made answering them. Finnigan reported that Justice was taking a larger role in their investigation, but they sensed something weighing on his mind that didn’t have anything to do with Brielle’s health.
We think we know what it is , Finnigan wrote, but we’re not broaching the subject until you’re home safe and sound.
He’d ended the letter with a line of X’s and O’s. She kissed them before she shredded the letter and flushed it down the toilet.
After dinner, Tawny met with her reading club for an hour. Once she’d finished Fahrenheit 451 , they’d begged for another novel, so she chose Brave New World . They giggled over the promiscuity in the book, but tonight, when she read the part about the love scene on a bear-skin rug, they hooted with laughter, and that sparked a discussion of the most exotic or weird place they’d ever had sex.
“I once had sex in a hammock,” Yolanda declared. “I wouldn’t recommend it. We got dumped on our asses.”
“My boyfriend grew up on a lake,” Terrin commented. “We did it in the bushes in broad daylight. Lord, it was awful. I’m surprised we didn’t get poison ivy.”
“Back seat in a Chevy.”
“Mile High Club.”
“Restaurant bathroom.”
Everyone participated in the discussion except Tawny. They gazed at her with expectant grins on their faces.
“C’mon, T. Your turn.”
Tawny blushed recalling her hottest moments with Finnigan, especially one. On a hot summer night when he was working late, she’d surprised him at the command center and whispered that she was nude beneath her dress. He’d grabbed her hand, led her into the locker room, and drove hard and fast into her. The fear of discovery increased their excitement and pleasure, though the encounter didn’t last more than a minute.
“In the locker room at an ex-boyfriend’s gym. He’s a personal trainer.”
“Damn. I’ll bet he’s buff.”
“Oh, he is.”
“Why’d you break up?”
“He cheated, so I busted up his precious Camero.”
“Like the song?”
Tawny grinned. “Yeah. Just like the song.”
As if on cue, they belted out the line from Jazmine Sullivan’s song, “Bust Your Windows.” They laughed and shoulder-bumped each other. Tawny read a few more pages, and the group broke up. She joined her classmates, already studying, for two hours, then relaxed with Jo in front of the TV until they parted for their cells.
In the darkness, Tawny’s mind refused to shut down in spite of her exhaustion. She visualized a dry-erase board and began to list suspects, but she couldn’t hold onto any threads. Frustrated, she fumbled for her journal and her pen light. On a blank page, she wrote Warden Stoltz at the top. She drew a short line and added Whitcomb’s name. Next, she listed Lucy’s and Nixie’s names and the others who’d either disappeared or overdosed. She jotted down details about each of them. Her intuition prompted her to include Wendy Corrigan and Director Jerry Dickinson at the bottom of the page. She stared at the names and tapped her pen as her mind whirled with unlikely theories and improbabilities. Something bothered her. Something important. Something on the edge of discovery.
On Friday night, bikers claimed the dive bar. Between thirty to forty motorcycles, Whitcomb guessed, dominated the parking lot. Inside, the place hummed with raucous laughter and loud bragging, punctuated by the sound of billiard balls and darts. Whitcomb shouldered his way through the bar to the table where Stoltz waited for him. Two bottles of beer sat in front of Stoltz.
“I took the liberty,” he said, waving at the bottles.
“Thanks.” Whitcomb dropped into the empty chair and swigged the beer. “Why are we meeting without Cohen and Jones?”
“I don’t trust them. Or you either, for that matter.”
Whitcomb saluted him with his bottle of beer. “No honor among thieves.”
“Have you ever met anyone else in the network?”
“No. You?”
“No. Invisibility bothers me. Who the hell killed Bette Simpson? For damn sure it wasn’t law enforcement.”
Whitcomb lifted a brow, bemused by Stoltz’s stupidity. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me? Everyone knows the entire thing was fake. You can thank Tawny for figuring it out and preventing a riot.”
Stoltz scowled. “All right. I get it. But that doesn’t answer my question. Did the network set it up? Why? Bette Simpson would have been captured soon enough.”
“Not unless she’s been in their custody all along.”
“No. No, I don’t believe that.”
Whitcomb shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
Two more bottles landed on their table. Stoltz leaned forward. “I received a message from the network today.”
“Oh? What did it say?”
“To eliminate Tawny Westfall.”
“A direct order? Seems redundant.”
“I assured them that was my plan.”
“Were you given a reason why?”
“No. My guess is the network doesn’t like her lawyer’s connection to powerful people.”
“Like Director Dickinson, for example.”
“Fuck him.”
“Have you worked out the details?”
“This isn’t just on me. It’s on you, too. You’ll be one of the guards at the camp when the women are ready to be in the field.”
“What about the fire captain? What’s her name? Moira Finnigan?”
“She won’t be an issue. Fire captains have never spent the night at the camp. And if she poses a problem, we’ll set up an accident for her.”
They plotted and drank more beer.